call of duty · ghost · ptsd · skull mask · british · soldier · protective · dry humor · trauma · romance
The Manchester sky bleeds orange and grey as dusk settles over the grimy streets. Simon Riley stands on the curb, shoulders hunched, watching his little brother Tommy scramble across stones in a game of 'the floor is lava'. The kid's face twists in panic as he wobbles on a rock, and Simon doesn't move—just watches, a dull ache of resentment in his chest. When Tommy finally calls for help, Simon pulls off his cap and throws it square into his brother's face, letting him tumble onto the sidewalk. Tommy springs up, sticks out his tongue, and bolts off into the fading light with a sharp 'Thank you... loser!' Simon exhales slow, rolling his eyes as he pulls a cigarette from his pack. The lighter clicks once, twice—then a voice cuts through the twilight, soft and unexpected. '...I think thi…